


Pride of a Father

by Bleach_ed_Na_tsu



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:19:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu/pseuds/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Primo looked on at his descendent with pity; part of him as saddened by the fact that this was where his lineage was going to end, and another because he knew the pride a father felt when his first son was born. Deciding it was his duty, Primo gave a helping hand when Iemitsu could not provide what they both needed and desired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride of a Father

Nana sat in the bathroom staring at the innocent, blue stick. Her hair covered her eyes as tears welled and frustration made her form jump. Another negative. She felt dejected, useless, and just simply tired. She wondered, not for the first time, whether she was fated not to be a mother.  
She had been married to her husband for two years, and so far, no matter what they tried, they simply could not conceive. Iemitsu wasn’t home all too often, but far more than enough for them to try their damndness to have a child. They had tried the rhythm method, Nana had had fertility treatments; they had tried IVF and nothing seemed to work.  
Nana could see it; every single time she had to phone or tell her husband that they had failed again that he was crushed. If Nana wanted children with all her heart, well, Iemitsu wanted them with his soul. It crushed her, made her cry with frustration and anguish; couldn’t she give him that one thing he wanted for even one of the uncountable amazing things he had given her?  
She felt useless as a wife; and a failure as a woman. She was unable to provide her husband with a son and herself the one thing she had dreamed for since she was but a young girl.  
It was so wrong, they had tried everything, and they couldn’t’ fathom why it was that they couldn’t have children. Nana stood and walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, hoping her husband didn’t look so broken this time.  
A man was standing in the corner of the bathroom. He had been watching Nana break a little more inside when the negative showed up on that strange little test; had seen the hundred other times it had done the same; it made him hurt somewhere deep inside.  
Primo had the privilege of seeing the joyous moment of every one of his decedents being born. He had seen the joys in the faces of the parents when they realised they were brining a new life into the world, and had seen each descendent grow, age, learn, marry and repeat the process again; it was the beauty of his eternal, traveling life within Vongola.  
Primo had also seen each one die, and had seen their children mourn the death of their fathers; for it was a blessing in his heirs to have male children. He had cried a little inside; all of his heirs had beautiful families, and none of them had to carry the mantle he left to his cousin during his retirement. He never intended for his children to have to carry such a burden.  
The boss strolled through the humble house, highly aware that something was missing. It was missing the delicate touch a child brings to a building; making a house finally a home. There were preparations in place, a beautifully plain, simple room between Nana and Iemitsu’s room and the bathroom, it was decorated a delicate blue with generic yellow curtains; it had no personal touch, but Giotto could see the room it would be. The first boss could see the crib in the corner, could see the floor dotted with toys and a rocking chair in the corner. His mind’s eye pictured the slow transition the crib would take to a bed, and the play pen would take to a school desk. Such vivid, beautiful pictures made his golden-blue eyes sparkle and soften; he remembered his own sons playing in the garden and making him pictures, he could feel their warm hugs, and see their grieving faces when he smiled his final smile to them on his death bed.  
The unconditional love of a child is something no one should live without.  
He stepped into the living room where his latest heir was trying to keep his inconsolable grief and sadness contained for his wife. He was a strong man, he knew his wife wanted to give him that one thing only she could provide him, and for some reason she could not; well, Giotto knew that it wasn’t actually Nana who was the problem.  
Whether it was some kind of incompatibility, or some kind of genetic problem with Iemitsu, Giotto didn’t know, but for whatever reason the two irrevocably in love people could not create a child, and it saddened Giotto so very much.  
He watched, as a man held his grieving, frustrated wife, hiding his own misery and frustration let the tears flow; there was something heartbreakingly beautiful about the scene, one he felt maybe he shouldn’t bear witness to. He decided there and then he would help his descendent in whatever way he could; if not for Iemitsu sake, then for his own selfish desire to watch the happiness of another heir being born into his large, extended family.  
Iemitsu had to leave soon for an extended amount of time, so the couple had decided to try it again, if with no other desire than to love each other one final time before the long separation. They loved each other so wholly, and the love making would be just that this time, there would be no drive to have children, simply to touch and love, and possess and claim what was theirs. It would be wonderful, it would be clean. It would be kisses and touches and lust and bites.  
It would be Giotto’s one opportunity.  
In the day, when Nana was out shopping for dinner Giotto approached Iemitsu. The man was unaware of his presence, having a diluted intuition within his blood. Giotto placed his hand on the man’s back, closing his eyes he searched the man for his male, and it was well hidden, beneath layers of guilt and deceit. But when he found it Giotto was pleasantly surprised, it was pure despite its taint, a sky-flame tainted red. It wasn’t pure in the flame-type sense, but it was pure with resolve.  
Giotto did the only thing he could, he pumped his own flame, his power, his drive into the man’s core, hoping his flame would spark the man’s seed into life; hoping with his entire soul that his actions would help father this man’s child and give both the beautiful people exactly what they wanted.  
He hoped, as he faded away and the couple’s wonderful evening began, that he did the right thing, because there was something touching at his intuition that told him he may not have done the right thing.  
XXXXXXX  
Giotto will never forget the look of surprise, hope and uncontainable joy when Nana saw the strong positive on the stick that once was a dreaded device. He watched, as over the next week the woman with the long brown hair and the soft, kind eyes bought twenty more pregnancy tests and grew ever more gleeful and relieved when each of them showed the same sign; of not a stronger response on each consecutive test.  
Giotto watched, awed, and gloriously happy, as Nana rushed to the phone, calling the one number she was told never to call; unless it was a strict emergency.  
“Nana!” Iemitsu’s shocked, concerned, distinctly dangerous tone called over the receiver. “What’s wrong?”  
Babble greeted the man as his wife bawled and cried over the phone, joyful, scared, happy, and wonderfully relieved. Soon enough she calmed, or at least enough to get her message across and leave her husband pale, without a phone in his hand; tears gathering quickly to his eyes. “We’re having a baby.”  
The next little while moved with incredible speed. Iemitsu spent more and more time at home, Nana was supervised by the most skilled and trusted doctors and midwives of Vongola (of course Nana didn’t know this, but it was for Iemitsu and Nono’s assurance) as she carried the next heir of the Vongola blood line.  
Soon enough, to Giotto’s growing relief, the generic room was filled with toys and blues. A baby boy was on its way; and before anyone was really prepared, Nana was only three months from her due date.  
For reasons that Giotto could only grasp at, he felt far more attached to his newest descendant’s health and wellbeing than any that had come before. He looked increasingly forward to his birth, waiting to see the beautiful child breath its first breathe and look into his eyes; because when they were young all his heirs seemed to be able to see him.  
Giotto had a habit of visiting a few of the pre-natal appointments of each of his descendents; but with this newest one, the one he couldn’t help but feel that he helped to bring into being, he went to every single one. And when the first ultrasound was displayed on that strange, dark, black-and-white screen, well, Giotto felt an instant connection.  
So blurry and undefined the image gave little flattery to the baby’s little head, but the position, so small and vulnerable, it was as if the child was calling out to Giotto, saying thank you for his life, and thank you for the chance to be born.  
Suddenly it was the due date, and it was a rush of activity and Nana was soon at the hospital with Iemitsu at her side, a hand in hers, encouraging her to push and stay calm and breathe.  
Of course, what followed was no real concern of Giotto, he stood in the background, a respectable distance from the birthing mother and the doctors that aided her, but he was close enough to be there when the young boy was born to the world to see his first breathe.  
He was pale and blue, as most babes were, but this child was so very different at the same time.  
The babe, so new and warm from his birth breathed a deep, filling breath of the clogged hospital air, and with one, wide-mouthed, closed-eyed heave a sound so pure and full filled the air that even Giotto was moved to tears.  
Then, as he approached them cleaning and checking him over, Giotto watched the baby open his eyes, he blinked, so unused to the strange light of the outside that it blinded him, until hues of the deepest, warmest brown stared into Giotto’s own blue crystal irises.  
What blew him away as Giotto stared was the spark and glow of the boy’s pure sky flames, so bright and uncontrolled already. They were so calming, Giotto himself found his flames being called forth, and he let them flow; because this child had his flames. He let them wash the boy over, checking him, warming him; soothing him where Giotto was unsure his hands would.  
Giotto wouldn’t realise it until much later, but Tsuna’s flames reacted to Giotto’s in the most positive way, for just as Giotto sparked a light in Iemitsu’s seed to father Tsuna, he sparked a light in Tsuna’s core that would prove to save his life one-hundred times over in the course of his life; a gift only Giotto could provide to Tsuna unknowingly.  
The baby smiled then, no longer crying, as most newborns would be. He stared for a long time, and Giotto stared back, because the babe, well, he was beautiful.  
Giotto wouldn’t see Tsunayoshi properly again for months, because he had other duties and Tsunayoshi had other family to meet.  
After all, he was a miracle child to them, two years in the making.  
When he next saw Tsunayoshi Giotto would be left speechless and wondering is his actions were the right ones. He would sit on the floor, where Tsuna played with his mother watching over him half-heartedly, as his descendent wiggled and tried to get closer to him.  
The boy had long, thick brown hair that stuck up in so many different directions that it was almost funny. He had a rounded face and a slender, girlish body.  
He was the exact copy of Giotto, and the first boss wondered with fear and anxiety, whether he did more that help to father Tsuna, because, for all intensive purposes, Tsuna looked more like Giotto did in life than he did either of his own parents- or any of Giotto’s own children.  
And each time Giotto appeared, during happy times, and during sad times, Tsuna always seemed more at ease. If he was crying when Giotto appeared, he would soon stop; if Tsuna was laughing, he would soon enough be laughing harder at Giotto’s appearance; if he was on the brink of a smile or giggle, he would soon be all smiles and love when Giotto appeared. It was wonderful, scary, and filled Giotto with love he had lost at the death of his own children.  
Giotto followed Tsunayoshi throughout his life, following each major milestone as it came and passed. He was there for Tsuna’s first words- ‘Clam’ -and for the first steps he took towards his mother, where Giotto stood in the background with an encouraging smile and warm, joy-filled eyes.  
Giotto was there, watching with rage and grief as Nono sealed the boy’s flames away, sealing his fate and ensuring the boy’s difficult child hood. To seal flames when one was so young was asking for the child to be dysfunctional, to lose some kind of balance within his core. The boy would be clumsy, and would lose that ‘sync’ within his movement and self. It made Giotto furious, because Tsunayoshi did not deserve such poor treatment on Iemitsu and Nono’s whim.  
Giotto was there when he had nightmares and his mother was sleeping, and was there when he was bullied in school for his looks, so girlish and pretty as they were.  
Giotto was there when the boy started to develop into Giotto’s look more progressively, and while he was frightened for the meaning of this taboo, he was somewhat smug, because his descendent was closer to him than to his wayward father, even with Giotto being less physically there than the boy’s actual father.  
Giotto was even there for the anger and betrayal he felt at his wayward father’s importance in the Mafia. Giotto was there when Tsunayoshi’s world crumbled and changed and flipped and a world of responsibility, expectation and need fell upon his young, fragile, warm shoulders. Because even Giotto was disgusted by the man’s decision to be the external advisor rather than a father; had he seen this coming he probably would never have helped his descendent father Tsunayoshi.  
“I suppose I have to thank him though, don’t I?” Tsuna had whispered once he was alone and Reborn had left after a harsh training with the guardians.  
Giotto was never sure whether Tsuna knew he was there all the time or not. He knew that the boy had a crazy amount of intuition and flames writhing and burning in his soul, and Giotto often caught the knowing look of love and appreciation in the boy’s deep, chocolate hues when Giotto caught him looking in his direction.  
“Because of him being in the Mafia, because I was born I’ve met so many wonderful people; I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world, even a real father figure.” Tsuna cried that night, because he was confused and scared, and Giotto stepped up and embraced his descendent, because he was not as uninvolved as he should be, and if he could comfort Tsunayoshi in some way than he had done something good.  
Over the next years Giotto watched as Tsuna pushed himself to the limits to protect his friends and train himself. He watched the battle in another future, giving his blessing and his curse. Giotto watched with a pained and heavy heart as Cozart appeared with a boy as remarkably similar to himself as Tsuna was to Giotto; he watched them fight and watched them repair what was broken in the name of balance.  
Each and every milestone Tsuna took Giotto was there for him. Along the way, Giotto’s name for their relationship changed and evolved. He grew ever more worried for Tsuna and his life; he grew aware of this when Tsuna came a hair’s breadth away from death when a particularly lucky sniper got a shot at his heart when Tsuna turned seventeen. Never in his entire life had Giotto ever been so soul-crushingly scared. From then on he knew their relationship was different. Especially when- in a haze of morphine and death’s embrace- Tsuna whispered chokingly to him; and Giotto knew Tsunayoshi spoke to him that day.  
“I’m sorry to have disappointed you, dad.”  
All of it led to one day. And to a future uncertain, but planned out in an ever constant cycle none the less. For Tsuna would grow and age. Tsuna would marry and love. Tsuna would father an heir of his own and feel the pride a father should feel. Tsuna would watch his own son grow and would watch him grieve when Tsuna himself died.  
But Giotto wasn’t really paying attention to the future so assured and unknown; because he was about to bear witness to yet another remarkable milestone of this boy’s life.  
Giotto never felt so much pride.  
Never, never with his own sons-who took heavily after their late mother- and never with any of his earlier descendents.  
Tsuna stood from his kneeling position on the steps below Nono, upon his shoulders was the black mantle of Vongola’s boss. It fit his filled shoulders perfectly, the length accenting Tsuna’s build and giving him a strength that was all visual.  
He turned, his guardians already bowed at his feet, and the rest of the gathered famiglia, the ones who scorned him, the ones who helped raise him, and the father who did nothing but give Tsuna the pathway to life stood in the darkened corner; proud, but aware and guilty of his lack of glory in this moment- he knew he was not the one to truly father Tsuna to his current place.  
Primo stepped up as the others in the room bowed to the new Decimo, he moved towards Tsuna, the boy who looked as if he were born from Giotto’s loins. He placed a heavy, light hand on Tsuna’s shoulder, smoothing his back with the other. The wrinkles soon disappeared from the wrinkleless mantle, and Tsuna smiled knowingly, comforted by the presence of that one person who had always followed him.  
“I’m proud of you son.” Were Giotto’s whispering words to his descendent.  
Tsuna simply smiled, walking towards the throne of Vongola as people pulled out of their bows and clapped for him in that practiced manner. His brown eyes, that flickered orange for effect, swept the room; they landed on his guardians, his friends, and over the two men who played the strongest role in his life. He smiled a smirk of a smile that looked so much like Reborn’s on the body of Primo. He would have laughed at the shock on the faces of the crowd if he didn’t take great satisfaction in himself.  
After all, he was his father’s pride.

**Author's Note:**

> This came about when I thought about the uncanny likeness Tsuna has to Giotto, but the strange lack of similarity he has to Iemitsu. It got me wondering, especially since my sister and I look like out fathers... so, what if Primo was more than an ancestor to Tsuna?  
> Completely unlikely, but hey, this is my madness!  
> Review please!  
> ~~Bleach-ed-Na-tsu :3


End file.
